


Poker Night

by coveredbyroses



Series: Birthday Drabbles 2018 [18]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Strip Poker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 08:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16850602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: Poker and alcohol makes for an awesome night.





	Poker Night

Dean fans his cards over the green felt—full house—leans in over the poker board, and uses both hands to sweep in the chips. He’s grinning mirthfully, gives you and Sam a boastful wag of the eyebrows as he raises his beer to his lips. Sam rolls his eyes, downs the last of his own beer, then lifts to his feet.

“Alright, guys,” he says with a groan, stretching his long arms up above him. “I’m callin’ it. See ya in the morning.”

You and Dean both mutter out a night and watch the lumbering hunter disappear from the library.

“You tired?” you ask Dean over the lip of your Michelob.

“Not a bit,” he says, and there’s a glint of mischief in his forest-green eyes.

“What…” you drone, squinting in suspicion.

Dean looks down, thumbnail scratching at the bottle label. He looks up, eyes several shades darker. “You up for a little strip poker?”

Heat flushes up underneath your skin, like water on the stove, just before it comes to a boil.

You and Dean have been dancing around something for a while now, ever since you’d moved into the bunker after that Wendigo killed your entire family. You’d barely made it yourself, spent six weeks in the hospital. You still go into a fierce panic when you hear the word ‘camping’.

It started small, a playful wink here and there, innocent enough that it could easily be misplaced for sibling-like banter. Then it started to escalate; lingering touches, time-stopping smoulders. And you’re fairly certain he purposely grazed your ass at the bar last Friday.

But this? This is a whole new game. Pun completely intended.

And you want him.

You take a breath to steady your nerves, throw back the rest of your brew, and level your eyes with his.

“I’m game.”

Dean smiles lazy, takes a corner of his bottom lip between his teeth, and deals.

*****

Two beers later, you’re down to just your bra and panties, Dean only sans two shirts.

“BOOM,” he beams, splaying his winning hand. Royal flush. How in the—

His eyes are bright, even under the glassy film of inebriation. He swipes his tongue over the full curve of his lower lip, arches his brows.

“Shit,” you breathe. “Think I need something stronger than beer…”

“Nuh-uh,” he says, settling back in his chair. He clasps his hands behind his head, let’s his eyes rove over you. Your stomach’s in knots, sweat beading along your hairline and upper lip. It’s not that you don’t want to do this, it’s just been so  _long_  since you’ve bared yourself to anyone, and this is Dean Winchester, what if he’s abhorred by what he sees—

“Show me yours and I show you mine?” he offers. Shit, he knows what he’s doing.

You take a breath of courage, and bring your arms behind your back, your chest pushing forward in the process. You feel the clasp give and then your skin is on fire as you hook your thumbs under the straps, guide them down your arms.

Dean’s eyes go hilariously wide when the cups fall, the cold bunker air ghosting over your now-bare breasts.

“Holy shit—” his voice is strangled; raw, breath shallow.. “C-can I…”

“No way!” you bark, clamping both hands over your chest. “Show me yours, then we’ll talk.”

Dean gives you a closed-lipped smile, then shrugs, pushing up off the table. His eyes are steady on your as he deftly open his jeans, one hand disappearing into the wide V of washed denim. When it returns, it’s fisting the velvet-thick breadth of his cock; it’s half-hard already and you feel an ache manifesting deep in your cunt.

“So…” Dean says, voice heavy. “Let’s talk.”


End file.
